


Icarus

by Aelle



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Apocalypse, Horror, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelle/pseuds/Aelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Al try to survive in a world on the brink of destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

\---

_With melting wax and loosened strings  
Sunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;_

_Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,  
With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;_

_His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,  
And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;_

_O'er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,  
And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;_

_Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,  
And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell._

\- Erasmus Darwin

\---

 

Their house was on fire.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, beyond the screaming and the sirens and the hysteria running rampant in the streets, the thought repeated itself in an endless loop. Ed wasn't sure why it mattered; not when he couldn't recognize the town he grew up in for all the chaos, and his new pajamas were soaked in someone else's blood. He didn't recognize the man who tried to save him; never even saw his face, but he would remember the way the blood spurted out from his neck when the flesh was torn from his body by teeth and tongue and bright, dead eyes. Ed should have been terrified. He should have screamed, but every thought that went through his mind was scattered and incomprehensible save for one.

 _Our house is on fire._

He was distantly aware of someone shrieking off to his left, the sound of it shrill and grating to his ears, and his feet felt rooted to the ground as surely as if he'd been chained there. Deliriously, he imagined himself a tree, all too aware of impending danger but unable to do anything but watch.

The house was on fire-- he could see the blaze on top of the hill, smell the black smoke as the flames ate his home, the livingroom with their family photos and the bedroom he shared with his baby brother. 

He couldn't find Al.

A whimper forced its way from his throat, then, and he stumbled out into the streets amidst the fear and the anguish and the putrid stench of death. When had they gotten separated? It was so easy to get swept up in the waves of panic, too easy for children to be pushed and shoved and carried away when no one was looking out for anyone but themselves. "Al!" Ed called out, and any other time he would have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracked and wavered. "Al! Where are you? Al!"

Tears of frustration and fear welled up in his eyes. He couldn't find his little brother.

Ed was too small and the bodies around him were too big; he saw things in flashes when the crowd would ebb and thin, things that young eyes should never see. Parts of the body that should never be outside of them, flesh that was ripped and torn and gnawed upon like one of Den's chew toys. Eyes that stared and stared but would never see anything again. Eyes that could see but didn't care.

" _Al!_ "

He pushed his way through the streets and tried to ignore the terrible smell. It felt like it was crawling up his nose and wreaking havoc in his belly, and once or twice he had to stop and gag. Suddenly, there was a loud whistle and a rain of dirt on his head.

"Fucking hell!" he heard a man curse. "Are they shooting cannons at us?!"

Ed looked back and immediately wished he hadn't. 

He gave in to his urge to vomit, retching on the side of the road as the people-- those who survived the blast-- rushed by him, uncaring of the lone twelve-year-old emptying his stomach. Ed wiped his mouth with his hand-- his sleeves were too dirty, still covered in blood and the smell of it nearly made him vomit again.

Where was Al?

Ed took off running in the same direction as everyone else, hoping that Al would have done the same-- he had to find him. He had to.

Someone ran past him and knocked him over, and Ed found himself on his stomach, staring wide-eyed at a little boy slumped on the side of the road. His face was completely gone, nothing left behind but gore and blood-soaked brown hair. Not Al.

Not Al, but it could have been.

He didn't realize he was screaming until he felt the rawness of it in his throat.

He wasn't sure how he managed to hear it through the ringing in his ears, but somehow he did-- it cut through all the screaming and the sounds of their neighbors dying, and Ed crawled towards it, all hands and bare feet in the dirt. It was quiet, but there; he could hear crying from somewhere outside of his line of sight, and he picked through debris until his own blood joined the stranger's on his sleeves and he found himself staring into pained, frightened bronze eyes.

"Al!" Ed tried not to let his panic show, he really did; but there was Al, crying and struggling under a pile of rubble and he could see blood leaking from a wound he couldn't find. He tried to be careful as he pulled the remnants of someone's front door away from his baby brother's body, and Al reached for him as soon as his hands were free. "Al, can you walk?"

Al nodded and pressed his face against Ed's shoulder, hiding his eyes from the carnage that surrounded them from every angle. Ed dragged him to his feet, and then they were running, suddenly aware that the people were gone; they were gone, and they'd been left behind.

They rounded a corner and nearly tripped when another cannon fired, the shock of it rattling the earth under their feet. Close. Too close, and Ed found himself all but carrying Al towards the outskirts of town. They had to get out. Ed didn't know why, but every hair on his body was standing on end in anticipation-- the streets were empty, and something was horribly, horribly wrong.

They were so close, he could see the edge of the town just a block away, just a block-- and then their path was cut off as something emerged from one of the alleyways, then another something, shadowy figures that loomed above their small bodies and Ed found himself staring into dead, dead eyes.

Al was screaming.

Ed couldn't move, but then suddenly he was-- not by his own feet, no, his feet weren't touching the ground anymore, and he was dimly aware of being carried under someone's arm. He could see Al squirming beside him, and he tried to catch a glimpse of their savior, but the panic and the nausea and the pure, unrelenting exhaustion finally caught up with him, and all he registered before darkness took him was long, black hair and a blue flamel tattoo.


End file.
